Imagine arriving at a funeral and being handed a glass of wine and a small piece of candy, beautifully wrapped with a macabre motif – that was a common tradition here in Sweden less than a hundred years ago.
In the mid-1800s, sugar was still a luxury in Sweden. A tradition evolved where guests were given small keepsakes in the form of hard sugar candies during life’s great milestones: christenings, weddings – and funerals.
Image: Swedish funeral candy from the collections of Nordiska Museet.
Photographed by Karolina Kristensson / Nordiska Museet
Sweet keepsakes for the grieving upper class
Before the funeral ceremony began, wine and little sweets were offered to the guests.
The candies were not meant to be eaten. They were kept as mementos of the deceased – and as reminders that one day, we too would meet death.
Eating them would have been not only tasteless and disrespectful in the eyes of society– the candies were rockhard, and some manufacturers tried to cut costs by mixing in chalk or other cheap ingredients.
The hard candies were often shaped like a corpse, wrapped in crepe paper with fringes.
Black paper with long, thin fringes signaled that an adult or elderly person had passed away, while white or light paper with short, wide fringes indicated a child or young person.
The wrapper was decorated with a label, often bearing a morbid motif such as a skull and crossbones, a graveyard scene or a coffin. Sometimes a short text, prayer, or poem was added.
The trend spreads and business booms
As sugar became more affordable toward the end of the 19th century, the tradition spread beyond the cities and into rural areas. More people could now order their own ceremonial sweets or purchase decorative labels, which led to an entire industry devoted to confections for marking moments of both celebration and grief.
Business was so good that manufacturers traveled to Germany and France to stock up on pre-printed papers and labels. This marked a shift from the macabre motifs to softer, more religious imagery: angels, crosses, saints, lambs (for deceased children), prayers, and hymns.
Sugar’s global reign becomes the tradition’s downfall
As the once-exclusive sugar lost its ceremonial status during the 1920s and 30s, interest in these peculiar keepsakes began to fade.
By the 1960s, the tradition was more or less extinct.
Today, these unique mementos can only be found tucked away in forgotten boxes in the attics of elderly Swedes – or preserved in museum collections, such as at Nordiska museet in Stockholm.
Do you think this sweet yet macabre tradition deserves a revival?
A short story with Quinley & Herrow
Who are Quinley and Herrow?
In Coffinfolk Café’s stand alone short stories, you’ll meet two most unlikely friends:
Quinley – Coffinfolk’s café host. A young woman who loves life just as much as she loves exploring the cultural heritage of death and sharing advice, information, and insights that can help people – whether they are facing their own encounter with Death or living with grief.
Herrow – Death himself. He may look frightening in his black cloak, but beneath the bones is a kind soul who enjoys a cup of coffee and sharing experiences gathered from every corner of time.
You can find a longer introduction + a short story about their first meeting HERE
“Sweet memories”
Narrated by Quinley
“Just one more…” I mumbled, reaching for the bowl on the table. The shiny wrapper crinkled as it joined the growing pile on the table beside the sofa where I was sprawled out.
“You’ve said that four times now…” chuckled Herrow from the sofa opposite mine.
I sat up and slid the bowl of sweets toward the Reaper.
“Here, try one yourself and you’ll understand,” I giggled. “This one was Grandma’s favorite: cream caramel toffee.”
“Is that so?” Herrow picked up a piece and studied it as if the colorful wrapper held some secret to be solved. I glanced at the bowl again. One more. A last one… No! Enough sugar. For now. I just needed to find a distraction.
“Herrow…?” I tilted my head and made my plea as sweet as sugar.
“Haha, I know that tone all too well. Where are we going? What do you want to see?”
Herrow stood and reached for his scythe, ready to depart.
“Uh, not sure…” I shrugged, my eyes still drawn to the tempting candy. “Something to take my mind off sweets.”
“I have an idea. Come along. We don’t need to go far, but hold on tight so I don’t lose you along the timeline.”
I jumped up and grabbed his free hand.
That now-familiar gust brushed against my face as the café vanished behind us and we slipped into another place, another time.
When I opened my eyes, we were surrounded by people in finely tailored black suits and dresses, murmuring quietly in a large room. The air smelled of flowers, beeswax, and some kind of alcohol—punch, maybe?
Even though I knew these people could neither hear nor see us, I still leaned closer to Herrow and whispered:
“Where are we? When are we?” Herrow answered in his usual soft, raspy voice:
“Let’s see… the café is just a few blocks north from here, though it won’t open for another 120 years or so. This is the late 1800s.”
“Aha, I could almost tell from the cl—” One of the well-dressed men further into the parlor shifted, giving me a glimpse of the open coffin.
“You don’t need to get any closer.” Herrow’s hand rested gently on my shoulder.
“It’s all right. I want to say farwell, even if it’s to a stranger.”
It was always surreal, walking through a room full of people as if they were air, offering no resistance at all.
I stopped when I saw a woman seated on one of the sofas. She dabbed carefully at her eyes while a relative or friend clasped her free hand.
“The widow,” explained Herrow.
“I wish I could give her a hug… When you’re grieving, it’s so easy to feel alone—even in a crowded room.”
Several guests held small boxes tied with black silk ribbons. A few had opened theirs and were studying the little memento inside. It looked like a piece of candy, wrapped in black paper with long fringes.
“Funeral candy. A keepsake to hold on to.”
“I thought we were doing something to help me stop thinking about candy…?”
“I’m Death, not a miracle worker. But perhaps I can get you to think about candy differently.” I shot Herrow a look that would’ve sent him to his own coffin, if he’d been human. Though, bonebag or not, he was right.
We drew closer to the deceased man resting in the beautifully carved wooden coffin. I swept my hair back and straightened up.
His skin had a pale gray tinge, though his cheeks and lips had been touched with color to give a “healthier” look. A deep red rose lay beneath his hands, folded over his chest. Standing this close, I felt the chill against my legs from the block of ice hidden beneath the draped fabric to keep the coffin and body cool.
I cleared my throat and blinked away tears before they could fall.
“You lived in a time far from mine. But death—we all know it, sooner or later.” Herrow gave my shoulder a squeeze. “I hope your heart once beat for something you loved. Rest in peace, stranger.”
We slowly stepped back from the coffin. Cheerful chatter cut through the silence. A small child in his mother’s arms was curiously reaching for the pretty candy wrapper she held. She hushed him gently, keeping the keepsake out of reach of his little hands. “I feel you, kid,” I thought to myself, leaning against Herrow’s thin but steady frame.
“Can we stay a little longer?”
“Of course. As long as you like.”
We remained in the room—not to eavesdrop on the mourners’ conversations, not to watch their gestures or expressions, but simply to be present. Even if they never knew it.
When we returned to the café, I dropped back into my sofa with a thump.
I picked up a toffee and exchanged a glance with Herrow.
“One last one… for the fifth time?” he asked with that invisible grin. “Or will you save it as your own funeral candy?”
“Grandma always said they were made to be eaten, so why resist? But those beautiful funeral sweets gave me an idea. Every time I eat one of these, I’ll think of a memory with her.”
“That’s a lovely thought. Do you have many?”
“Oh, plenty!” I laughed, popping the candy into my mouth as I recalled the time we went berry-picking in the forest and ran into a moose. The toffee now tasted, if possible, even sweeter.